The Shopkeeper (26 page)
Authors: James D. Best
Tags: #Western stories, #Nevada, #Westerns, #Historical fiction, #Fiction
“Because it’s all that’s left of John. And … maybe we can work something out.”
Mrs. Bolton was interested. It showed in her face. “Like what?”
“You can visit the ranch two weeks a year. When he’s old enough, he can visit you in San Francisco … if he wants to. His decision.”
“He?”
“A feeling.”
This girl that I seemed obsessed with was pregnant. She also intended to live on a ranch in the middle of the barren state of Nevada. I had to come to my senses. While I tried to deal with my shock, Mrs. Bolton showed where her son had come by his skill at bartering.
“I want five thousand dollars a year as a stipend.”
“Why should I give you money?”
“So you can have leverage over me. To keep sweet grandma’s visits cordial and something your child will look forward to.”
Jenny did not hesitate. “I agree.”
“Payable in advance. Now, before I leave.”
“Any other demands?”
She lowered the shotgun barrel a few inches. “Write the draft now.”
Without a word, Jenny went to a small fold-down writing table in the corner and withdrew a bank draft. She scribbled for only a moment and handed it to me. Something that approximated a signature appeared below the number 5,000. “Please write the rest,” she requested.
I moved to the writing table and finished the draft. When I stood back up, I handed the draft to Jenny and turned toward Mrs. Bolton. “Put the shotgun aside first.”
“How do I know I can trust you?”
Jenny continued to sound even. “Do you want to see your grandchild?”
Mrs. Bolton looked torn, but eventually her stern expression melted into her too-sweet smile, and she leaned the shotgun against the wall. “I’m not sure I coulda shot you, anyways.”
When she stepped forward to accept the draft, I walked around behind her and took the shotgun. She said she was not sure she could shoot us, but I was sure. That woman had the devil in her.
After she snatched the check from Jenny’s hand, she said, “Are you really pregnant?”
After a theatrical pause, Jenny said, “Yes.”
Then I saw a genuine smile on Mrs. Bolton’s face. “And I can visit once a year.”
“You may … as long as you behave.”
“The five thousand?”
“At the end of each visit.”
“How do I know you’ll continue paying?”
“I’ll continue to pay only as long as my child wants to see his grandmother.” She paused. “I think you understand.”
After a moment, Mrs. Bolton said, “I understand.” Then she pointedly looked at me. “Did you know I have a grand house in San Francisco?”
“No.”
“It’s in my name. John bought it to get rid of me a couple of months a year.” She turned to Jenny. “It’s in my name, and you can’t take it away from me.”
“Nor will I keep you from your grandchild if you behave as a grandmother should. I know we can never be friends, but whether we like it or not, we have something that binds us.”
“Indeed, we do. Whether we like it or not, we’re stuck together.” After she examined the draft more carefully, she added, “McAllen told me about you dispatching that murdering son of a bitch.” She put the draft in her dress pocket. “Thank you.”
Turning to me, Mrs. Bolton said, “I’ll be ready in the morning.” Just before she walked out of the room, she looked at me pointedly and said, “I love San Francisco.”
After she left, I said, “That was quick thinking.”
“I had thought it all out in advance. Even the amount I would offer to pay her each year.”
I was confused. “But she came up with the number.”
“I know her.”
“You thought she would do this?”
She shrugged. “Or something like it.”
I began to see Jenny as a different person than I had imagined. I had guessed she was smart, but I had never thought she could be so calculating. I began to suspect there were depths I had still not seen. I had to ask. “Are you pleased to be with child?”
“I’m not pregnant.”
She threw the answer out so casually that I was shocked. “You’re not?”
“No. I’ll write her after she’s in San Francisco. She’ll not get another dime from me.”
“My God. You planned all this in advance?”
She said offhandedly, “I’ve lived with that woman for two years. As I said, I know her.”
She stepped toward me and examined my bandage once more and then added, “I think that looks like it will hold. If you’ll excuse me, I’m very tired.” She extended her hand. “I won’t be up when you leave, so goodbye—and again, thank you. I trust you will keep my confidence during the ride.”
“Of course. How is she to travel?”
“Joe’s been told to have her buggy ready at first light.”
“McAllen wants you to send a hand to bring the buggy back.”
“No. You drive and leave it at the livery. I’ll send someone to pick it up later.”
I hesitated. “Can I make a suggestion?”
“Of course.”
“I was thinking if you sent a hand, he could bring back a tutor. Someone to teach you to read and write and figure.”
Jenny’s face lit up with the wild exuberance I had seen on that first day at Jeremiah’s. “Yes. Do you have someone in mind?”
“A woman. Very smart and savvy.” I grinned. “You’ll like her.”
“Mr. Dancy, that would again put me in your debt. Someone will be ready to drive the buggy in the morning. Thank you, and good night.”
Having been dismissed, I picked my hat off the kitchen table and started for the dining room to retrieve my gun. Just before I left, I asked, “Was Sprague the man you saw with Washburn?”
“I never saw that man before in my life.”
Chapter 45
When I stepped off the porch, there was just enough light for me to see McAllen step into his stirrup and swing into his saddle. I quickened my pace and came up alongside him. “Why are you leaving?”
“I already told you. Jeff and one of my men will help you bring that hag to Carson City. We’ll meet up when you get there.”
“Captain McAllen, you’re still in my employ.”
“We’ll discuss that when you get to town.” Without waiting for a response, he spurred his horse, and they all rode off, leading a horse with Sprague’s body draped across the saddle.
With nothing else to do, I walked over to the bunkhouse to find my bed. As soon as I stepped inside, Jeff Sharp got off a bunk and came over to me. He jerked a thumb at the door I had just come through and said, “Let’s get a smoke.”
I saw my gear on a bunk and went over to grab my pipe and tobacco. The bunkhouse was a single large room with about a dozen beds. Five men sat playing poker at one of the two tables by the door, and a couple of other hands lay on their bunks reading. I looked around before joining Sharp and saw that one bed was off by itself in the corner with a chair and writing table. The foreman evidently did not have a separate room or cabin.
As I surveyed the large common room, I wondered how many other men had had the courtesy to make themselves scarce during Jenny’s ordeal. No wonder she had developed a hard edge so quickly.
I was grateful Sharp wanted to talk, because I did not want to think about what I had learned or about my feelings. My previous relationships had all been in New York, with proper young women appropriate to my family’s station and my age. My extended family had shown disappointment when I abruptly broke off from each of the women with little or no explanation.
I had never put the reason into words, even to myself: I had become bored. Any of those women would have trapped me in New York and in a social circle that scared me. My obligations to family and even my businesses seemed to be overwhelmed by wanderlust and desire to experience new adventures. I had long ago realized that my journal and book deal were just a convenient excuse to leave home and escape the pressures to settle down and establish a family.
When I first saw Jenny, she epitomized the untamed nature that had lured me away from everything stable and secure. My infatuation and lust had been irrational, compulsive, and indefatigable. Until tonight. Thinking Jenny pregnant and anchored in Nevada dampened my ardor for the first time. She had suddenly become like every other woman that had ever been in my life: a commitment, not just to a person but also to a place.
Place? I knew I didn’t want to be tethered to New York City, but I sure didn’t want to be tied to Nevada either—especially to a ranch in the middle of nowhere. And Jenny came with both. I knew nothing about ranching and had no desire to learn. Too much work, too little freedom. I shook the thoughts from my head and stepped out into a clear, dark night.
Sharp must have had an affinity for horses, because I found him leaning his arms across the top rail of the corral, smoking a cigarette. I leaned my back against the rail, facing away from him while I packed and stamped my pipe. After getting a good draw, I turned around and said, “Nice night.”
“Not for travel.”
“What has McAllen so riled?”
“He believes Jenny went to the shed intent on killin’ Sprague.”
“That’s ridiculous.” And then I immediately wondered if it was.
“I’m not so sure. McAllen says she had no gun during dinner. Remember, she excused herself to go upstairs before we went to the shed.”
I thought through the implications of that statement. If true, it meant that I had only accepted Jenny’s surface connivances and that she was far more mean-spirited than I imagined.
“Perhaps he’s wrong,” I said, without heart.
“Not likely. It’s his business.”
“But she couldn’t have planned Sprague’s attempt to escape.”
“McAllen thinks that was just luck. She intended to just shoot him.” Sharp flicked his butt over his shoulder. “He even thinks that story about Washburn pointin’ out her husband was a lie.”
That statement jolted me, especially after the way Jenny had so nonchalantly said she had never seen him before. Could she have gone to the shed with the intent of murder?
“That makes no sense. We already had him in custody. and he was probably going to hang.”
“She knows Carson City politics. Hell, she probably picked up so much in tow with her husband that she has a better grasp than even Bradshaw. Sprague coulda got off, an’ she knows it.”
“But then she might have been tried for murder.”
“A pretty, distraught girl defended by Jansen with all his connections would never be convicted … probably never even tried.”
“But why? She didn’t love her husband. I heard her say so in the house.”
“Got me.” Sharp rolled another cigarette. “Maybe because she couldn’t get to Washburn, she went about settlin’ the score in the only way she could.”
“Killing’s hard for most people.”
“Not if you hate enough, Steve.”
We stood there with our own thoughts for several minutes. Jenny was like an onion. Removing each layer just exposed another. If McAllen was right, she was not only conniving but also capable of killing face-to-face. I took a deep breath and decided to focus on Washburn. Then I remembered the smile she had given me when I mentioned a tutor. Damn.
Finally, I asked, “Will McAllen resign?”
“Don’t know. His pride is hurt because he’s lost a man an’ a prisoner. In his mind, he made stupid mistakes.” Sharp gave me a look. “All that man has is his pride.”
“He shouldn’t take it so hard. She had us all fooled.”
“But it’s his job. He feels especially foolish because he allowed himself to get smitten an’ took his eye off his obligations.”
“What?”
Sharp laughed. “Did you think you were the only one?”
“I—” In truth, McAllen’s attentions toward Jenny had bothered me, but I had thought it was only my imagination. “He told you this?”
“Naw, but it was there to see. Just like you look love-struck whenever she’s around.”
“That obvious, huh?”
“Some things a man can’t hide. They just happen to ’im.” Sharp gave me a pat on the shoulder. “Don’t fret. We’ve all succumbed, one time or other.”
“But I do fret. Not because I’m struck with Jenny, but because Jenny is not the girl I had supposed.”
“They never are, but I gotta admit, this one’s a bigger puzzle than most.”
I cleaned out the bowl of my pipe with my knife and said, “Can you help me with McAllen?”
“I’ll talk to him. This ain’t over yet.”
I stuck my pipe, stem first, in my front pocket. “No.”
I looked up at a huge sky dappled with so many stars that it reminded me of the sparkles in the Long Island sand on a sunny day. Did that thought mean I was homesick? I hoped not. I wasn’t ready to go back east yet.
I pushed myself off the rail and said, “Let’s get some sleep.”
Chapter 46
Sharp gave a low whistle. We rode about a hundred feet in front of Mrs. Bolton’s buggy, and I had just finished explaining the pregnancy ruse to Sharp. “That’s scary,” he said. After a moment, he asked, “How old are you?”